Changing Days

The story of the only love I ever had.

It seems it began in another life. But really, it wasn’t so long ago. It was a classic teenaged love story, at least at the beginning.

 

He and I were close, best friends for years. Neither of us was willing to admit there was more, fearing an end to the closeness we both cherished. And suddenly there was a moment, one I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

 

We were talking at a New Years party, marking the third year since we met. It was a day that would change everything. We joked that it was our ‘friendship-anniversary,’ and in that one moment, I realized how empty it all was. And, struck by the same thought, we kissed at last. We were blissfully unaware of our friends’ cheers that we’d done it at last--at least, until we pulled away and snapped back to reality.

 

After that, we became inseparable (if we hadn’t been already). Thinking back, Leo and I were the model couple of the school, though we didn’t notice at the time. We were busy being wrapped up in each other. That honeymoon period, as some call it, didn’t quite end after the first few months. We kept that all the way through, never letting go of what brought us together.

 

There were too many perfect days. Even now, I can’t pinpoint one as the prime example of our relationship. We were still best friends, still aware of our family and friends, and still completely happy. Leo kept surprising me with chocolate, just as he had done before we became a couple. And neither of us ever considered the possibility that it might not last.

 

Two years passed, probably the happiest of my life. Even now. He kept a near-permanent smile on my face, and I’d like to think I did the same for him. Our senses of humor were completely in-sync, and the only trouble was the far-off threat of college and separation. We knew, of course, that we might not choose the same university; we also knew our education had to be the most important. But with just as much certainty, we knew we would stay together even so.

 

We had fights, of course. Mostly stemming from the little annoyances that come from spending so much time with one person. He always wanted to be touching me, and I was moody and stubborn. We always made up; usually with him apologizing first and then making me feel guilty that I was so stubborn. His family adopted me, and mine did the same for him. He and my big brother often did their own thing.

 

We were there for each other through everything. He grew sick more often than I remembered, with little colds and stomach aches that he always insisted didn’t matter. I’d kiss him anyway.

 

And then, one changing day approached. I’m tempted to say it was dark and stormy, but it was really just a cheerful, bright spring day. Leo and I were walking, like we often did; we were skipping and holding hands and laughing the entire time. But I noticed he was quieter, that worried crinkle in his forehead prominent the entire time. At the end of the trail, he had me sit down on a bench. I barely heard his carefully constructed words; I had become lightheaded and dizzy the moment he began to talk.

 

I think we need to break up. How painful could seven little words be?

 

I can barely remember the rest of that day. He led me home with a guilty, sorrowful look that is still stuck in my mind. I was desperate not to let him see me cry, something I had done just once before in his presence. But the tears came on the way home, heavy and accompanied with red blots on my face. I ignored the tears on his cheeks, focused on my own anger and betrayal. He pulled me into a last, soft hug on my doorstep, both of us shaking and crying. I held on as long as I could before he gently escaped into his car and out of my life.

 

I missed school for a day, and my parents didn’t question it. I found out later that he did, too. I texted him, of course, more often than I was proud of. He didn’t respond except once, to say he was deleting my number and thought it would be best if I moved on as well. I was struck to the core at his coldness, and entered a haze of anger and tears. We weren’t in any classes together, which was a blessing for me. But a month passed and I felt the same--my friends had initially been shocked and furious on my behalf, then slowly their advice changed, prompting me to move on, maybe make him jealous.

 

It all had so quickly transformed into a saga of a typical breakup, but the feelings were so much more. I kept tabs on Leo, and I would later learn he did the same. But my depression continued, and my older brother decided to take action. Tommy, always the protective big brother who would do anything for me. I never appreciated him more than I did at that time.

 

Tommy confronted Leo over a month after the breakup. It was another day that changed my world, turning it sideways. I’ve heard a few accounts of what exactly happened. Tommy caught up with him after school, and shoved him hard when Leo tried to avoid him. After lots of yelling from Tommy and people gathering around, Leo finally grabbed my brother and brought him away from the crowd. And the news Tommy brought home was even worse than what I’d been through.

 

I had to hear it from my brother, and it hit me with a blow that physically hurt. Leo still loved me, and was suffering the same as me. He’d felt that he had no choice: The sicknesses he’d been contracting had been symptoms. My Leo was dying.

 

After that, I knew. And there was absolutely nothing that would stop me from seeing him. I raced to his house as soon as Tommy was finished, ignoring his claims that I should respect Leo’s decision to distance himself. I wouldn’t respect anything that took us apart.

 

Long story short, I took the spare key and broke into Leo’s house, finding him lying down in his room. He was a bit frightened, and his plight only grew once I began a panicked, frustrated rant that ended in tears. I sobbed harder when I realized how gaunt he’d become, and the many school absences I’d noticed suddenly made sense. I kept trying to talk, but all that came out was unintelligible blubbering. But he understood, and he apologized over and over again.

 

We loved each other, we decided. Just the same as before. And we couldn’t be apart, not at a time like this.

 

The time that followed was the hardest I’ve ever had to go through, and hopefully ever will. The only thing that made it bearable was him. We were together again, as close as before. Maybe closer, since we had that clinging mentality that we had to be together at all times.

 

Leo still wanted his sickness to be a secret, not wanting to be treated any differently. But I saw a difference, though it wasn’t entirely bad. We talked about it, too--he began living differently than before. He told people exactly what he thought, and he determined to find the happiness in our average, boring lives. And I think I loved him even more.

 

I went to his appointments with him and his family, and we both missed more school. My parents weren’t happy at first, but for once, I didn’t care. He and I ignored the whispers of pain that crept up so slowly we could pretend not to notice.

 

And then there was another day that changed everything. The day chemotherapy began, the day he lay in my arms and cried, the day it all seemed hopeless for the first time. I told him I would shave my head with him, and he laughed and stroked my long hair he loved. Absolutely not, he told me. One whistle of the razor and his head was shining. He laughed and said it looked like an egg. We played with wigs, our favorite a pink one. I told him to close his eyes, I’d pick another one--another whistle of the razor and a line of baldness ran through my hair.

 

He opened his eyes in shock and horror, then couldn’t help but laugh with me. My hair was quickly gone, and I couldn’t believe how vulnerable it made me feel. I was glad I could feel it with him, and he knew it.

 

We walked into school the day afterwards, both of us nervous and clutching the other’s hand. The jig was up: Everyone now definitely knew Leo was sick. And I was very, very bald. We had fun with crazy wigs, wearing them to school and having teachers choose their favorites. We cut school to drive, a new place every Wednesday. We once had a picnic on the school roof, a dream of ours since freshman year.

 

A few months later, I was pushing him into school in a wheelchair. After that, it was only a short while before he gave up and remained at home. His only insistence was that I stayed focused on school, and I tried. I tried so hard, but it just wasn’t possible for me. All I could see when I looked at my books were his shadowed eyes, looking back at me with sorrow and need. I began having nightmares, some of which I remember to this day, 20 years later.

 

My nightmares came true.

 

We’d known it from the beginning: he would not survive this. But that made no impact on what I felt when Leo was hooked up to the IV, wheezing through a respirator. He woke a few times, once to tell me to start dating as soon as I found a willing boy. I laughed and cried and shook my head.

 

My friends held me, my family supported me, and my annoying school counselor kept trying to talk to me. But I felt completely alone when I wasn’t with Leo. Spring break had me at Leo’s side for days on end as I watched him slowly slip away.

 

I was at his side when it happened, holding his hand alongside his family. The machine suddenly replaced his labored breathing with the harsh, jarring tone of a flatline. I stared for a while, ignoring the bustling hospital staff. And I finally collapsed unconscious onto him, clutching his side with a death grip.

 

He left me a journal in which he’d written words of mine--turns of phrase that he’d remembered, stories that he managed to sneak a peek at. And throughout the journal, he talked to me.

 

He talked of his fears and regrets, his secrets, his half-finished bucket list. He told me to go to college and become the writer I always dreamed I could be. He told me I would always be beautiful, that he never deserved me. And he told me he loved me.

 

I finally went back to school, although I can’t remember what happened. I was in another haze, and I couldn’t quite snap into reality for a long time. No one understood. No one had ever understood me except for Leo. They talked at me, walking on eggshells, never mentioning his name except to offer empty condolences.

 

Time passed, and I struggled on. Never forgetting, never recovering, and never letting anyone in to take his place. You see, I’m still in love.

Author's Note

Long, I know, but please review!